


The Arrest of the Bone-Breaking Alchemist

by Griselda_Gimpel



Series: Rebuilding Ishval [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon - Manga, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Nazis by Another Name, Nudity, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Canon, Post-Promised Day, Slash, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 19:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16248800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griselda_Gimpel/pseuds/Griselda_Gimpel
Summary: Scar & Miles track down a State Alchemist suffering from affluenza. Sequel to By the Book.





	The Arrest of the Bone-Breaking Alchemist

                Führer President King Bradley had codenamed him the Bone-Breaking Alchemist. His real name was Bartholomew Kirchner. He went by “Bart”. He was, according the photos, blond haired and blue eyed and baby-faced. The descriptions of his crimes were stomach-churning.

                Scar set down the photograph, taken on the day Kirchner had made State Alchemist. Across from him on the bed, Major Miles set down the letter home Kirchner had written. He looked like he was going to vomit.

                The prosecutor in the case against Kirchner had asked for Scar and Miles help with the case. There was so very much to do when it came to rebuilding Ishval, and not all of it was about putting in houses and farms and sewer systems. The perpetrators of the genocide needed to be brought to justice.

                There was a pile of evidence now that had been arduously collected and carefully sorted. Kirchner was the most likely candidate for prosecution. It was Kirchner’s own words that had damned him. It happened that Bart Kirchner had a younger brother – Derrick Kirchner – who had idolized him. Derrick Kirchner wasn’t a State Alchemist. In fact, he wasn’t alive any more. As far Scar and Miles could gather, Derrick Kirchner had been a regular patron of some bar in Dublith known as the Devil’s Nest. For some reason – neither Scar nor Miles had been able to get the exact story – the military had raided the Devil’s Nest. Derrick Kirchner had been there. He’d taken three bullets to the face and died instantly.

                However, several years prior, Derrick Kirchner had been alive and the recipient of dozens of letters from his beloved older brother. In the letters, Bart Kirchner had described – in graphic, gruesome detail – every war crime he had committed during the Ishvalan Extermination Campaign. The letters had never reached their intended target. Every single one of them had been stamped CLASSIFIED and filed away where no one was supposed to see them. They hadn’t stayed hidden, however. They’d been pilfered and stowed away until they were finally recovered. Now all of them were in the hands of the authorities, readying to be used against Kirchner in the court of law.

                There was only one problem: no one had seen hide or hair of Kirchner since the Day of Reckoning. He’d apparently seen the writing on the wall and pulled one impressive disappearing act. That was why the Prosecutor had asked Scar and Miles to help out. While the Prosecutor worked on the other cases – the case against the Flame Alchemist took up most of his time these days – Scar and Miles were tasked with finding Kirchner. To that end, they had checked out and taken home all of the evidence against the Bone-Breaking Alchemist and were now going over it with a fine-tooth comb, in hopes of discerning something about his whereabouts.

                Miles picked up another photograph, stared at and frowned. “Scar,” he said, a note of insistence in his voice. “Take a look at this one again.”

                Scar took the photograph and stared at it. The photograph was one of the ones that had been taken in Ishval and included with one of the letters home. Kirchner was something of an amateur photographer, and many of his letters home had included pictures. Scar didn’t like looking at any of them, and this one was no different. It showed Bart Kirchner, grinning happily along with several of his fellow Amestrian soldiers. At their feet was one of Kirchner’s victims. It was a horrible photo.

                “What about it?” Scar asked. He looked at Miles. It meant not looking at the gruesome, damning photograph.

                “Look closely at the man who is arm in arm with Kirchner,” Miles instructed.

                Scar did as instructed, trying to focus on just that part of the photograph and ignore the rest of it. His eyes went wide.

                “The Strong Arm Alchemist!”

                “Alex Louis Armstrong,” Miles agreed. “Looks like he was pretty chummy Kirchner there. And we know where Alex Armstrong is.” (There was some evidence against the Strong Arm Alchemist; the Prosecutor was working on building a case.)

                “How do we get him to talk?” Scar asked.

                “We should check with the Major General,” Miles suggested. “She is his older sister. You up for a trip into Central?”

                Scar nodded and they carefully collected up the evidence and stored it away. Now that they had a lead, they’d check the evidence back in tomorrow. Despite the discovery, neither man was in a terribly good mood for the rest of the night. They had both covered up the rawest of their wounds with a tough exterior, but the evidence had still hit them hard. Kirchner had taken a lot of pictures.

                It was Miles who vocalized their shared feelings. He and Scar had both quickly figured out in their relationship that Miles was better at that sort of thing than Scar, although Scar was trying.

                “Do you want me to hold you for a while?” Miles offered.

                “I will manage,” Scar said.

                “I know you will,” Miles said. “In that case, will you hold me for a while?”

                Scar nodded, and Miles snuggled up next to him on the bed. Scar stroked his hair.

                “When I catch the Bone-Breaking Alchemist, I’m going to make him suffer,” Scar promised.

                “We need to do it by the book,” Miles insisted. “Have him stand trial.”

                “I know,” Scar said. “There are different ways to make a man suffer. I won’t put a mark on him.”

                When they finally drifted off to sleep, Scar was still holding Miles in his arms.

                After arranging their affairs for their absence, Scar and Miles took the train to Central City. For once, Scar didn’t have to wear a disguise to leave Ishval. Grumman had pardoned him three weeks earlier. He had done so during a public press conference, without giving Scar advanced notice that would have given him a chance to reject the pardon. Scar had spent enough time with Yoki to realize that Grumman was laying the groundwork to later pardon some of the war criminals he personally liked, and Miles was of the same mindset. (Scar couldn’t help remember that Miles had mentioned that Grumman had been the Flame Alchemist’s mentor.) Still, there wasn’t anything they could do about it, so Scar had been pardoned.

                Of course, the same press conference had informed the country that Scar was still alive, and the next week found him beset by news people. He had refused all interviews and used alchemy to construct a deep moat around the house he shared with Miles, but photographs of him from odd angles were still prone to appear in the newspaper.

                Scar and Miles took a private cabin on the train ride to Central, and Scar used alchemy to lock the door. Their privacy assured, he took a nap with his head on Miles’ shoulder.

                Miles had called ahead to Major General Armstrong, and she sent a car to meet them at the train station and take them back to her mansion. In one of the many rooms of the estate, a maid served the two men and the Major General tea.

                “The crux of the issue, sir,” Miles explained, “is how to get your brother to tell us what we want to know.”

                “Beat it out of him,” said the Major General promptly.

                “Scar just got a pardon,” Miles replied. “It wouldn’t be good for him to end up in jail on an assault charge.”

                “I could-“ the Major General began.

                “Good help you’ll be to Ishval in prison,” Scar interrupted.

                “In that case, exploit his weak point,” said the Major General. She gave first Miles and then Scar a look over. “Scar should be able to do it.”

                “His weak point, sir?” Miles asked.

                “Everyone has one,” she barked. “Some people hide theirs carefully, to protect themselves. Alex isn’t one of those people.”

                “What is it that we need to do?” Scar demanded, growing impatient.

                The Major General explained. Afterward, it wasn’t until Miles said something about it that Scar realized his mouth was agape.

                “No,” he said flatly.

                “Oh, is that something you only do for Miles?” she asked, leaning back and crossing an ankle over her other leg.

                “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Miles carefully.

                “Uh huh,” the Major General said, unconvinced.

                “Surely you don’t put stock in the tabloids,” Miles began, but the Major General held up a hand.

                “I don’t intend to tattle, Miles,” she said, “but please don’t lie to me.”

                “Sorry, sir.”

                “How did you know?” Scar asked.

                The Major General scoffed. “I commanded a fort composed almost entirely of men. Do you think the men under my command were all celibate? A bad breakup could undermine the unity of the northern defense. Enemy spies could use the threat of exposure to blackmail one of my soldiers for information. And don’t get me started on the problems that come with an officer dating a direct subordinate. It was my responsibility as commander to know the ins and outs of my troop’s lives and to intervene when necessary to protect the integrity of the fort. You aren’t Miles’ first, you might know. I simply never had a problem with him.”

                Scar shot Miles a glance, and Miles flushed. “If you must know, there was Ernest and then David. But that’s ancient history. David and I broke things off two years ago.”

                “Very amicably, too,” the Major General said approvingly. “No unnecessary drama. Ernest moped for a few weeks, but it never became an issue.”

                Miles and Scar thanked the Major General for the tea and the advice and left.

                “Are you comfortable with me doing as the Major General suggested?” Scar asked, when they had returned to the hotel they had rented for the night. (They had been given a room with twin beds, which they had pushed together.)

                “It’s your decision,” Miles said. “You’re the one who would be doing it.”

                “But you are my life partner,” Scar insisted. “You have a say.”

                Miles cocked an eyebrow. “Wait, am I your first?”

                “What?”

                “I had Earnest and David. Did you have someone before me?”

                Scar scowled. “There were a few others before you. But you are the first where I was joined with another in Ishvala’s eyes.”

                “Because what Ishvala has joined should not be broken apart without good cause,” Miles finished. He laughed. “I guess I should have known.”

                “And intimacy isn’t something that should be taken lightly,” Scar agreed.

                “In that case, I’m comfortable with you doing what the Major General suggested, provided you’re comfortable with it. There are other ways we could get the information.”

                “I will do it,” Scar said.

                They put their plan into action the next afternoon. Major Armstrong took his lunch at 12:30 sharp at a corner café in Central. It was a simple matter for Scar to stroll up when he was eating. Scar looked around. It was decently busy. That was going to make things more awkward, but it would also protect him.

                Major Armstrong looked up from his menu and saw Scar.

                “Scar?” he asked. His muscles tensed.

                “I’m not here to fight you,” Scar said.

                “Then why are you here?”

                “This,” Scar said. He slipped his priestly robes down around his shoulders, tying his garment at his waist. This left his chest bare. Scar raised his right arm and flexed it. He glanced at Major Armstrong to gauge his reaction.

                Major Armstrong’s eyes were wide, and is mouth was slightly agape. Scar thought of Major Armstrong smiling so happily in the picture with Kirchner. He switched to flexing his left arm, imagining that he was slowly strangling the life out of Major Armstrong. At the thought, a smile crept across Scar’s lips.

                “I’ve never seen you smile before!” Major Armstrong boomed. He tore his shirt off, toss it in the air. It landed on an umbrella above a table ten feet away. Then it slid down and hit an old lady in the face. Scar had been ready for that. He had seen Major Armstrong shirtless before. He rather suspected that that was true for most people in the country. It was definitely true for everyone in the immediate vicinity.

                There was a flash of light as a camera went off. Scar turned to see that the news people had found him. He groaned inwardly. The tabloids were going to have a field day with this. He turned back to Major Armstrong to find him flexing his own muscles.

                Finally, Major Armstrong finished and stretched out a hand. Scar pretended not to see it.

                “May I sit?” Scar asked.

                “Please do so,” Major Armstrong said, taking his own seat. “How can I help you?”

                “You heard that I received a pardon recently,” Scar began, slipping his robes back up. Major Armstrong looked disappointed when Scar did so. Scar resisted the urge to shudder. Major Armstrong was like a fish constantly bumping into the glass of its bowl, forever surprised to find the barrier there.

                “Yes, I heard,” Major Armstrong said.

                “You were in Isvhal,” Scar said, struggling to keep the rage out of his voice.

                Major Armstrong dropped his head in shame. “I feel really bad about what I did.”

                “Uh huh,” Scar said, not trusting himself to speak, while thinking _He felt really bad?_

                “I should have fought for Ishval,” Major Armstrong continued.

                _But you didn’t._

                “I fought the homunculus Sloth. I didn’t run from the fight.”

                _What does that have to do with anything?_

                “Can you forgive me?”

                _No._

                Scar ignored the question and asked, “I heard that you knew Bart Kirchner.”

                “Uh, yes, I did. I do.”

                “I want to talk to him, too,” Scar said. “I won’t kill him.”

                Major Armstrong looked uncomfortable. “I said I wouldn’t tell anyone where he’s at.”

                “Please,” Scar said, and resisted the urge to gag on the word.

                “I promised.”

                Scar stood up, ready to go. He’d have to find another way.

                “Wait!” Major Armstrong called. Scar stopped and turned back to him. “He’s in Dublith. He’s been hiding out at the Devil’s Nest.”

                Scar nodded and left for real. As he headed back to the hotel, he wondered if Major Armstrong had felt “really bad” about the picture he’d taken with Kirchner. Probably he had. Probably he had smiled anyway because going along was easier than standing up to his friend. Scar shook his head.

                “How’d it go?” Miles asked when Scar reached their room.

                “Success,” Scar said. “Now I need a shower. And you.”

                “I could join you?” Mile suggested.

                “Yes.”

                Miles followed Scar to the bathroom. “Did he…?” Miles asked.

                “He only looked,” Scar assured him, “just like the Major General said he would.” Scar turned the shower water on, and Miles began washing Scar’s back. “I like it better when you look at me,” Scar said, “with your beautiful red eyes.”

                “Anything you want,” Miles cooed over the sound of the water as he washed the soap off of Scar.

                Scar turned the water off, and the two men began to dry off. Scar caught Miles’ eye. “I think he thinks we’re _friends_.”

                “Ick,” Miles said.

                “That man has less self-awareness than Yoki!”

                “Really?”

                “He asked me if I could forgive him,” Scar managed, spitting the words out like a too large chunk of food. Scar had asked Winry if she forgave him, once, only to realize that it had been presumptuous for him to do so – and Major Armstrong’s crimes were so much worse that Scar’s. While all crimes were a blight in the eyes of Ishvala, not all crimes bore the same weight. Besides, it wasn’t Scar’s place to forgive Major Armstrong; Scar wasn’t the one he had wronged.

                “Oh,” Miles said.  

                “I never even forgave Marcoh,” Scar growled.

                “Did Marcoh ever ask?” Miles asked. “For forgiveness, I mean.”

                “No,” said Scar. “There was a time where I thought, but he didn’t.”

                “Oh? I don’t think I heard about that?”

                “It was after we’d deciphered my brother’s notes and after we had defeated Envy. It was just Marcoh and I at that point. We’d been traveling for a week, heading to the outskirts of East City to meet my master.”

                “Yes, I remember you telling me about that part.”

                “At the end of the week, Marcoh seemed rather agitated. Eventually, we stopped for a rest. We were on foot at that point, going through a forested area. Marcoh was getting some water from a little stream, and I was sitting on a tree stump.”

                “What happened next?”

                “Marcoh came back from the stream and said, ‘Scar, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.’ Then he came over to me and knelt down so that he was on his knees and he said, ‘I’ve helped you decipher your brother’s research notes, and we’ve defeated Envy, so I want to know something.’ I got the sense he was having a hard time asking what it was he wanted to ask.”

                “Well, what did he want to ask?”

                “What do you want me to do next?” Scar quoted, and Miles laughed.

                “You hadn’t told him where you were going or what you were doing?”

                “I…no. I suppose I hadn’t.”

                “Oh, and he didn’t read your mind?” Miles teased.

                “No, he did not,” Scar grumbled.

                “He should do better there,” Miles said, in mock outrage.

                “You’re teasing me,” Scar sulked.

                “I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you,” Miles said.

                “Yes,” Scar said. “You should.”

                The next morning, Scar and Miles discovered that Scar had made the cover of two tabloid magazines. One showed the picture of Scar with his chest bared under the headline SCAR: SERIAL KILLER OR SEX ICON? The second had a stock photo of an Amestrian bride and groom, with a picture showing just Major Armstrong’s face posted over the face of the groom and a picture showing just Scar’s face posted over the face of the bride. Its headline was PRODIGAL ARMSTRONG SON MARRIES ISHVALAN TERRORIST. Miles insisted on purchasing a copy of each, and Scar insisted on using his deconstruction attack on both.

                They took a train into Dublith, found another hotel for the night, and headed to the Devil’s Nest the next morning. It was around ten in the morning when they arrived. They decided that Scar would go in the front, while Miles covered the back from the outside.

                The Devil’s Nest had the distinct look of being abandoned as a place of business, but there were clear signs of inhabitants. There were bags of groceries leaned against walls, old newspapers stacked in corners, and laundry hung on the backs of chairs.

                Scar found Bart Kirchner in the bar bathroom, passed out across the toilet. Scar resisted the urge to avert his eyes – lest he take his eyes off an unsubdued enemy – which meant that Kirchner became the third State Alchemist that Scar had seen in a partially or fully undressed state. Kirchner technically fell in the former category, as he was wearing both his State Alchemist pocket watch around his neck like a necklace and a pair of underwear. That said, he was wearing the underwear on his head for reasons unknown. Scar assessed at a glance that they were not a clean pair of underwear.

                There was a bottle of alcohol by Kirchner’s limp right hand and another balanced precariously on the edge of the bathroom sink. Scar took the broom by the door and poked Kirchner with it. With that, he determined that Kirchner hadn’t just been pretending to be passed out.

                Kirchner awoke with a start and stumbled against the sink, which caused the bottle of alcohol to tumble off the sink and shatter on the bathroom floor. Kirchner, lurching about, promptly cut his foot on a shard of glass, causing him to scream in pain. Eventually, Kirchner managed to focus his eyes on Scar.

                “You!” he snarled.

                He tried to punch Scar, missed by several feet, and succeeded only in punching the concrete wall, causing him to yell a string of curses, half directed at Scar and half directed at the wall. Scar was actually glad that he wasn’t there to kill Kirchner. To do so would have been beneath him, like killing Yoki.

                “Yes,” Scar said. “I’m here to make a citizen’s arrest. You are to stand trial for your crimes in Ishval.”

                Kirchner winced and tried to cover his ears. “Don’t talk so loud!”

                “Will you come quietly?” Scar asked.

                “I didn’t do nothing!” Kirchner protested.

                “You tortured and slaughtered by kinsmen,” Scar hissed, his temper rising.

                “Well, they deserved it, didn’t they?” Kirchner slurred. “If they’d just been good and done as they were told, Bradley wouldn’t have had to send us in.”

                Scar clenched and unclenched his fists. “You’re going to pay for what you did.”

                Kirchner took a step toward Scar, injuring his foot again. He fell against the wall. “I’m a good man,” he protested.

                “You’re a monster,” Scar spat.

                “I went to a good school – the best college in Amestris. I come from a good family!”

                “Then surely you’ve disgraced them.”

                Kirchner’s blood, bloodshot eyes went wide. He apparently had sobered up enough to be scared. He fell on his knees in front of Scar and promptly screamed in pain as the broken glass cut him. “Please don’t kill me,” he begged. “Think of my mum! She’s already lost one son. Without me, she’d just have my sister. You can’t leave her with only a daughter and no sons!”

                Scar leaned forward. “Did _you_ think of anyone’s mother, when you were in Ishval? And I’m not going to kill you; I’m arresting you. You’re going to stand trial. You’re going to go to prison.”

                “I can’t go to prison!” Kirchner wailed. “I’m too well brought up for that. I’m not like you people; I can’t be locked up!”

                “Tough,” Scar snarled.

                Kirchner didn’t have any words after that, just wracking sobs. Scar suspected he was less sorry than he was sorry that he was going to have to face consequences for his actions. That, and sorry he both stepped on and was now kneeling in broken glass. And had punched a wall.

                “Get up,” Scar snapped. “Put your underwear on properly.”

                After Kirchner – with some difficulty – did so, Scar pulled his hands behind his back and put a pair of restraints on him that would prevent him from doing alchemy.

                It was a brisk, chilly, early winter day, and Kirchner shivered as Scar marched him out of the Devil’s Nest, where Major Miles met them. Kirchner was limping, and there were trickles of blood on both of his knees. A photographer and reporter from the newspaper also met them, and Scar belatedly realized that Kirchner had put his underwear on both inside out and back to front, such that the brown stain was prominently displayed.

                “What did you do to him?” Miles whispered.

                “He did it to himself,” Scar whispered back. “I didn’t touch him.”

                “Can I get a comment, the reporter asked, pen and notepad in hand.

                For once, Scar didn’t reply with a scowl and a No Comment. Instead he flashed a smile, pushed Kirchner forward and said, “I’m making a citizen’s arrest. This is Bartholomew Kirchner. He’s a State Alchemist wanted for the crimes he committed in Ishval.”

                “Where are you taking him?”

                “To the nearest station for processing. Then to Ishval to stand trial.”

                After that, all that was left was the trial. It turned out that Kirchner’s State Alchemist license had expired the day before Scar had arrested him. Furthermore, his bank account had been frozen due to an unrelated case of tax fraud. Because none of Kirchner’s damning letters and damning photographs had ever arrived home, his dear old mum had deluded herself into believing he was Good Boy who hadn’t done anything wrong. When the evidence was presented at the trial, she fainted dead away. When she revived, she disowned her eldest son and then moved to Drachma with her daughter.

                Due to the lack of funds, Kirchner only had one lawyer instead of a dozen. He was not only convicted on all counts, but on the last day of the trial, he showed up very drunk. Not only did this earn him a further Contempt of Court charge, but during his drunken rantings, he confessed to the tax fraud. Nor was he pardoned for his crimes because, as Miles explained to Scar, it turned out that he’d once called Grumman “an awful old hag in an awful old dress” to Grumman’s face.

                Scar and Miles decided to take a well-deserved vacation, so Major General Armstrong gave them access to the private hot springs in a secluded area of Mt. Briggs that the Armstrong family owned, far away from the cameras of the news people. There was a family of stray cats near the springs, who let Scar pet them and, with some coaxing, allowed Miles to do the same. The two men had a wonderful time and decided to adopt all of the cats and take them back to Ishval with them.

**Author's Note:**

> This fan fic was prompted by the desire to have a story where the wicked were punished and the righteous rewarded, instead of the other way around, as is all too often the case.


End file.
